Challenge
by Tamala Miran
Summary: What Atobe Keigo wanted, Atobe Keigo got. AtobeTezuka.
1. Challenge

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own PoT, it owns me.**

**Challenge **

Atobe Keigo had neither the time nor the patience for this. It was really wearing on his last nerve. Of course, he was fully aware that it took time to properly woo someone, but this was getting ridiculous. In all honesty, he didn't know why he was still pursuing this matter. He told himself that he was still in it for the thrill of the hunt, and to mend his wounded pride. Atobe wasn't used to being so openly rejected. No one turned down Atobe Keigo. It was unheard, unacceptable. He wanted, no needed, to build up his ego once more, to return his image to flawless perfection. He wanted to satisfaction of ensnaring rebellious pray. And more than anything, he just plain wanted Tezuka Kunimitsu. And what Atobe Keigo wanted, Atobe Keigo got.

It was late one Saturday afternoon that found Atobe reclining in a chair, legs crossed elegantly, and taking the cell phone that a servant offered him. He brushed back a few strands of hair before dialing the number, deft fingers moving over the buttons. The phone rang two times before someone on the other line picked up. "Tezuka," Atobe said, voice laced with confidence while at the same time sounding laid back.

"Atobe," the voice replied, formal as it always was. Atobe let a silence hang between the two of them, deciding to let Tezuka continue to conversation, if not only to see what he would say. "Atobe," the other both finally repeated the annoyance evident in his tone. Atobe could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers as he held the phone in his other hand. "If you're calling to arrange a match—"

"No, it's nothing of that sort," he interrupted, examining his finger nails before brushing them against his shirt.

"Then to what do I owe the _honor_ of you calling?" the brunette demanded.

"Ore-sama's in a generous mood tonight. Perhaps you might like to accompany me to dinner this evening," Atobe replied.

"Atobe, I believe we've already been over this, and my answer is still no," he said, hanging up.

Atobe frowned at the phone for a brief moment before settling it down and chuckling quietly. He liked a challenge.

Tezuka was not at all pleased when he reached the locker room, only to find an excessively large bouquet of flowers waiting for him. His frown deepened as he heard the other regulars beginning to mill into the locker room. He closed the door to his locker and tried to pretend as if nothing was out of the ordinary, untying his sneaker so that he could change, but it was too late.

"Those are nice flowers, Tezuka," Fuji said from behind his, tone calm and pleasant.

Tezuka turned to face him, suppressing a groan and hoping his face didn't betray the frustration and confusion that he felt, but Fuji smiled knowingly.

Eiji walked over quickly and draped himself over the tensai's shoulders. "Buchou got flowers?" he asked excitedly, "Nya, who are they from?"

"It doesn't say," he responded dryly as he walked away.

Tezuka took a deep breath and threw the ball up in the air. He watched it as it steadily rose and then lowered in the air. Tezuka swung his racket and the ball hit the other side of the court with a satisfying 'smack'. He closed his eyes for a moment before digging into his pocket and pulling out another ball.

Every day this past week had been the same. Each time he to change for practice after school, Tezuka found another gift waiting for him in his locker. Not one of them had a card attached, but Tezuka knew full well who they were from.

On Tuesday he had received a box of gourmet chocolates. On Wednesday, it had been more extravagant. In his locker waiting for him was a bottle of foreign designer cologne. Tezuka shook his head and later put the cologne in the same drawer in his room where he had stored the chocolates. The next day it was much simpler, only two rolls of grip tape. One was his favorite brand, the other looked far more expensive, a brand he didn't recognize. On Friday, when he arrived at the locker room before everyone else, he found a racket that looked almost identical to his own. It was only when he examined it further that he realized there was something engraved on the handle.

He didn't know why Atobe why being so persistent. He had made his feeling clear, he had said no several times already. So why him? Atobe could have almost anyone he wanted, and much more conveniently, yet he continued to chase after Tezuka. Showering him with gifts was useless; Tezuka wasn't the type that you could buy. Yet, he couldn't rid his mind of what was engraved on the tennis racquet. He had spent over an hour sitting on his bed the night before, running fingers of the engraved letters on the plastic, contemplating their meaning. That one sentence had confused him so deeply that he was no longer sure what he felt.

Smack. The ball hit the court, bouncing off to the side with the others. Amid the sea of tennis balls, there was only a single mark on the green surface. Breathing heavily, he started towards the other side of the court to gather the balls that littered the ground.

"You were off by a few centimeters on that last one," a voice remarked from behind the chain link fence.

Tezuka stopped momentarily, straightening his shoulders, but then continued walking. "The grip tape?" he asked, deciding not to dignify that last remark with a response.

"Your favorite," Atobe stated, flipping back his dark hair.

"I'm aware of that. I was asking about the other roll," informed him, bending over to pick up the tennis balls.

"My favorite," the heir explained, "Did you like the cologne?"

"The scent is a bit strong, but it's nice," Tezuka replied, standing up and turning to face Atobe, "I don't like chocolate, though."

"I know," Atobe said smirking.

Tezuka raised an eyebrow, asking his question without having to voice it.

Atobe shrugged nonchalantly, smirk still firmly in place. "_I_ do," he told him.

Tezuka shook his head, strolling back to his side of the court. "Are you just going to stand there," he began, "Or are you going to play?"

The smirk on Atobe's face grew and he chuckled quietly, sauntering onto the court. "Anything you ask of me is yours."


	2. Charm

**A/N: So, I origianlly intended for Challenge to be a one-shot, but a few people asked for more, and I caved. This isn't the end either, and I'm not sure how long the entire thing will end up being. Also, I need a title for the entire story. Any suggestions?**

**Charm**

Tezuka couldn't for the life of him figure out why he had agreed to go out on a date with this narcissist. Well, he hadn't exactly agreed, it had been a deal; if Tezuka won, Atobe would stop chasing after him, but if Atobe won their match, Tezuka would accompany him to dinner. But he couldn't remember why he had consented to the bet in the first place, or why he had lost, for that matter. If he had moved just a bit quicker, if he had reacted a little faster, he could have reached that last return. He _could have_, but he had let it go, and consequently lost the match. And now here he was, sitting in an overly expensive, extravagant restaurant, Atobe Keigo smiling at him from across the table.

"You don't look like you're enjoying yourself, Tezuka," Atobe remarked, placing an elbow on the arm of his chair and leaning his chin and the backs of his fingers.

"How would you know? You can't see my face," the brunette reminded him from behind his menu, shifting slightly in his seat, "Besides, I don't recall enjoying myself as being part of the deal." He closed his menu and carefully placed it down on the table.

"Well then, I suppose I'll just have to turn up the charm," he said, brushing back dark bangs, "Have you decided on what you're ordering?"

Tezuka nodded curtly and Atobe beckoned their waiter over with a snap of his fingers. The server bowed to Tezuka, and then more deeply to Atobe, before taking their orders and once again leaving them alone.

Tezuka resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as he sat there with Atobe, who was, for once in his life, being quiet. The brunette had to fight not to squirm under Atobe's gaze, dark blue eyes looking at him intently. Tezuka almost wished that Atobe would start talking if only to fill the awkward silence. _Almost_. However, at this point, he would give nearly anything if Atobe would only stop _staring_ at him like that. It felt as if the other boy could see right through his, past his false façade, past that constant air of confidence that he put on. He hated feeling this vulnerable, he hated feeling like he wasn't in control. Yet at the same time, it was almost… relieving. When he didn't have to hide behind a stony visage because it was of no use, he was almost able to relax. But he didn't; Tezuka didn't want to let Atobe see him act any differently from how he normally did.

He was dragged from his thoughts when he noticed someone come to stand beside him. The waiter has returned, and was now filling his glass with a pale golden liquid. Tezuka looked at it curiously, and then turned to Atobe, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

"Sparkling cider," Atobe informed in, chuckling when he noticed the almost indistinguishable surprise on Tezuka's face, which remained for only a brief second. "I don't need to resort to getting you drunk to ensure that you have a pleasant time." He lifted his lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip, eyes never leaving Tezuka.

Tezuka shut his eyes tightly. Of course they wouldn't serve alcohol to minors, even if it _was_ Atobe. He chided himself for his momentary lapse in judgment, but at this point, he thought he might have preferred it that way.

"You're being uncharacteristically quiet tonight, Atobe," Tezuka commented, adjusting his glasses, "I thought you were going to 'turn up the charm'."

Atobe smirked. "Silence can be charming all in itself." He adjusted the collar of his silken lavender shirt, and then tugged gently on the lapels on his black suit jacket so that it fell properly against his chest. Tezuka had to admit that Atobe looked nice tonight. The boy knew how to dress. The clothes hugged his chest nicely and accentuated his broad shoulders. Leaving the two top buttons undone was a nice touch too, Tezuka mused.

As if reading his thoughts— or he might have just followed his eyes, Tezuka supposed— Atobe's smirk deepened and he gave Tezuka an all-knowing look. Tezuka mentally slapped himself for making another slip-up like that. He never let his guard down like this, so why did he keep stumbling when around Atobe? He considered asking Atobe why he was looking so smug, so that it would seem like he hadn't just been ogling a bit of bare skin, but he didn't get the chance before their meals were being set down on the spotless white table cloth.

They ate their food without speaking, and it made Tezuka all the more uncomfortable. While he didn't have conversation to distract him, it caused him to notice things more acutely. For example, the light scent of Atobe's cologne, or the way the heir ate so daintily, instead of stuffing his face like many teenaged boys Tezuka knew. In order to remain seemingly composed, he had two options; he could either stare at his food like it were the most interesting thing he had seen in days, or he could look at Atobe. He chose the former, not wanting to take the risk of anything betraying the confident look he had done his best to paint on his face. As for Atobe, he hadn't taken his eyes off Tezuka for more than a moment. Tezuka couldn't stand it. But at the same time, it felt wonderful. He currently felt like a living contradiction.

When they had both finished eating surprisingly quickly, most likely because that hadn't paused to talk, Atobe paid the check with a flourish, despite Tezuka's attempts to cover his half. They had then both exited the restaurant, stepping out onto the sidewalk, flooded with the dim light of street lamps. The streets were, for the most part, empty.

"Where's your limousine?" the taller boy asked, rather anxious to get home.

Atobe glanced at him and chuckled. "Don't tell me you've become dependent upon it after only one ride?" he inquired, his tone sarcastic. He ran his fingertips through his hair and then shrugged indifferently. "I thought we might take a walk," he said, turning to start down the street.

Tezuka looked after him for a moment, eyebrows furrowed and the corner of his mouth twitching, and then followed after him. Their footsteps seemed to echo in the calm night air as they hit the pavement. Save for a few people here and there and the occasional passing car, the streets were calm that Sunday night. Tezuka walked a few paces behind the other boy, thinking about what had happened so far that night. The date had been, to say the least, unpleasant. He had felt awkward the entire time, not knowing what to say when Atobe had let silence hang over them for nearly the entire time. And when he did speak, the only thing that left the heir's mouth was one snarky comment or another. It was hardly chivalrous, not Tezuka felt cheated because of the lack thereof it, but he would have appreciated some level of politeness.

He was startled from his thoughts when he bumped into someone in front of him. He blinked and looked down to see Atobe looking at him questioningly. He had been so consumed by his reverie that he hadn't noticed that the other boy had stopped. He looked around and found that they were standing in front of the entrance a public park. He turned his gaze back to Atobe, but the other boy had already moved from where he had been standing, and was now walking through the gates of the park. Tezuka bit back the urge to turn around and walk home, instead trailing behind Atobe into the park.

They followed the path for while, Tezuka still keeping the distance of a few feet from Atobe. He watched the heir from behind, who now had his hands his pockets, his steps slow and casual. He looked at ease as he walked, his dark suit blending in with the night air, moonlight accentuating his hair, which was only a few shades lighter.

Suddenly, Atobe stopped, standing still for only a moment before strolling off the path and onto an open grassy area. Tezuka waited until Atobe had stopped in the middle of the small field before walking after him. When he reached the other boy, Atobe smiled at him briefly before looking up to the sky.

"The stars are beautiful tonight," Atobe commented.

Tezuka frowned. "You can hardly see them with all of the city lights," he replied, scanning the sky above him, which was only dotted with a few scant stars.

"How romantic of you," the heir remarked wryly, sighing.

They stood there silently for a few minutes, Atobe never moving from his spot, and Tezuka was beginning to feel the need to fidget. He looked around at the empty park, and then at his watch.

"They're a lot like emotions, you know," he heard Atobe say.

"The stars?" he asked, looking up at him.

Atobe nodded, gaze never leaving the night sky. "It's hard to tell how they'll develop while they're still forming. Some burn more brightly than others, some live longer than others," he began, now turning to look at Tezuka, "And some last seemingly forever before finally burning out."

Tezuka didn't reply. He wasn't sure how.

"Come on," Atobe said, "I'll drive you home."

Once again, Tezuka followed him without uttering a word. But this time it wasn't because he didn't want to seem like he was desperately trying to fill the silence. It was because he was genuinely at a loss for words.

He was arrogant, self-righteous, materialistic, spoilt, generally intolerable, and Tezuka was currently losing sleep over him. The brunette sighed and rolled over once more, pulling the blankets over his shoulders and shutting his eyes. He had been lying in bed awake for an hour and a half now, and he was still unable to fall asleep, though it wasn't for a lack of trying.

However, whenever he closed his eyes, he would see that face. At times he thought he could still hear his voice and smell the distinct scent of his cologne. It was ridiculous. The entire situation was completely ridiculous.

Tezuka Kunimitsu was losing sleep over Atobe. Atobe, who had taken him on a horrible date. Atobe, who had spent the entire night making smug remarks or not speaking at all. Atobe, who aggravated him to no end.

Atobe, who always managed to say the perfect thing at the last minute. He would say something that would leave Tezuka completely baffled. No one had ever left him so entirely unsure about how he was feeling.

Tezuka rolled onto his back and kept his eyes firmly shut, finally drifting off after some time, still enraged. Because all he could think about was Atobe.


	3. Realizations

**Realizations**

Atobe sighed as he slid down into the bathtub, warm water enveloping him, closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cool tile. The night had gone well— he had made Tezuka fidget ever so slightly, and then left him with something to chew on at the end of the evening. He had allowed him only a taste of what was there, but still enough to ensure that he would come back for more. Atobe could feel Tezuka's resolve slowly but surely weakening.

However, Atobe could no longer claim that he was only in it for the thrill of the chase. Of course, it was still satisfying to know that he was all the more closer to making Tezuka his, but the pleasure he felt wasn't from taking down his prey alone. No, it was something more complex than that. He was actually beginning to develop real feelings for Tezuka that Atobe couldn't deny. It was something that the heir wasn't quite familiar with. He wanted Tezuka, really _wanted _him, like he never had before. This time, it wasn't just because of a pretty face – though Atobe would admit that Tezuka was indeed handsome – and it wasn't for the enjoyment of proving that he could have whatever he wanted.

Atobe wouldn't call it love, because, in all honesty, the only person he loved was himself. He tolerated his parents, put up with his teammates, and respected a scant few. But there was definitely something there, even if he wasn't able to label it.

Atobe idly drew circles on the tile with the tip of one finger as he tried to remember when all of this had happened, and how it had managed to happen without him noticing. It had started, he recalled, as a vague interest in seeing what merit lied within that rumored talent. When he had finally seen Tezuka play, he hadn't been impressed, but perhaps grateful to have a worthy opponent. Someone he could take pleasure in crushing. He decided he would begin by breaking that calm and cool exterior. He wanted to make Tezuka writhe where he stood. And he had, not completely, but he had still succeeded in making the other boy squirm, if only a bit.

But Atobe wasn't satisfied. He couldn't understand why.

Even if he beat him at tennis, no matter how many verbal blows he got in, it wasn't enough. He needed more. It was frustrating beyond belief, because Atobe couldn't pinpoint exactly when that face had become so attractive, or at what point his personality had become so compelling. Somewhere along the way, Atobe had become intoxicated with him, with everything that was Tezuka. He was drunk in someone _else's_ magnificence. He tried to be appalled with himself, or to be outraged with Tezuka, but he couldn't manage it. So he grudgingly had to accept it.

But that didn't mean he had to let it be known.

Atobe smirked and leaned back further in the bathtub, closing his eyes and letting the scent of bath salts surround him.

"Game and set, Tezuka, 6-3!"

Tezuka absent-mindedly walked to the center of the court to shake his opponent's hand, and then made his way over to Oishi to discuss the training schedule. He had decided that it wasn't tough enough, or enough laps weren't being run, or something of that nature.

Momoshiro watched as his captain walked off the court, mouth still slightly agape in disbelief. This wasn't like Tezuka, not at all. Granted he had still won the match, but Momo had managed to get three games off of him. He had never been able to do that. _Never_.

The black-haired boy shrugged and slung his racket over his shoulder as he strolled off the tennis court to join the small group of regulars congregated by the fence.

"Good job, Momo," Eiji told the second year as he reached them, "You actually managed to win three games."

Momo rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. "I guess I must be getting better,' he replied.

"No," Ryoma commented, "Buchou seemed off today."

"I—Wait! Are you saying that I'm not getting any better?!" Momo demanded, one hand balled into a fist. Ryoma shrugged impassively. And Mom had to refrain from punching that smug face.

"He's right, Momoshiro," Inui interjected, adjusting his glasses and turning the page of his notebook, "Tezuka's level of concentration is down by twenty-seven percent today. The probability of his distraction being related to the team is nineteen percent, seeing as we don't have any major matches coming up for a couple of weeks. So I'd say that the chances that something in his personal life is bothering him are seventy-six percent, most likely having to do with all of the presents he received last week."

"Do you think a girl confessed to him?" Momo asked.

"Possibly,' Inui replied, flipping through the pages of his notebook, "But no previous data shows Tezuka having reacted in this way to a confession before."

"Nya, Buchou must really like her then," the redhead exclaimed.

"Perhaps he's in love, na, Kabaji?"

"Usu."

The four of them spun around to see the captain of Hyotei standing grandly in front of the tennis courts, henchman in tow.

"What's the Monkey King doing here? Looking for a match?" Ryoma asked, pulling his cap down to further shade his face.

"Nothing of that sort," Atobe replied, brushing back as few strands of hair.

"Are you spying on us, then?" Inui asked, not bothering to look up as he scribbled something down hastily.

Atobe gave the data collector an arrogant look as he said, "Even if Hyotei was that desperate, Ore-sama wouldn't be the one to do such a paltry task."

"Atobe, a word, if you wouldn't mind," a voice said, more commanding than requesting.

"Ah, Tezuka, of course. Anything you ask," he replied, turning on his heels and walking towards the brunette at a leisurely pace. "Kabaji, stay here."

"Usu."

Tezuka paced quickly over to just before the clubhouse door, where they might have some privacy while the other club members were practicing. When Atobe came to stand beside him, Tezuka looked him up and down. He was wearing his school uniform, pants creased neatly and not a wrinkle in his stark white, untucked shirt, of which the top button was undone. His tie hung loosely from his neck, and he looked as full of himself as ever.

"So?" he finally asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So what?" was Atobe's only reply as he waved his hand arbitrarily, feigning bored ignorance.

Tezuka's frown deepened and he subtly shifted his weight to one foot. Atobe wasn't going to make this pleasant for him, not that he ever did. "Why did you come here?" he demanded.

Atobe shrugged indifferently. "Ore-sama thought he might pay you a visit."

"Atobe," was Tezuka's only response, voice stern.

"What, are you going to force me off the campus?" the heir asked, the amusement evident in his voice.

_It's not as if I could, even if I tried_, Tezuka remarked to himself. "Atobe," he began, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Why did you really come here?"

Atobe only smirked. "I like to watch you squirm," he simply stated.

Inui jotted something down as he watched the two captains converse. He noticed Tezuka's unusual posture, and the smirk of Atobe's face. He glanced over what he had just written and then snapped his notebook shut.

"Chances that this is the cause of Tezuka's lack of concentration, one hundred percent."

He must have been temporarily insane, Tezuka mused, when he had decided to play a match with Fuji. Then again, his sanity had seemed to abandon him as of late.

He grunted as he reached for a far return and managed to hit it back with some amount of skill. He could feel Atobe's eyes on his back and he could see Fuji's knowing smile in front of him, and it was almost too much for him to take. It felt as if Atobe's gaze was digging into his back, getting under his skin. It made him shudder, falter. He wanted Atobe to just _leave_, so he could be free of these feelings. So he wouldn't be all too confused as to how he could feel so insecure under that stare, but still love it, relish it. He thought that playing a real match might take his mind off… _other_ things, but he had been horribly, miserably wrong.

He tried to initiate the Tezuka Zone so that he would have to move around as much, and maybe have a chance to clear his head, but he couldn't quite manage to put the right spin on the ball. He hit back the next ball, again unable to put the correct spin on the ball. Fuji returned it, and the ball spun where it landed, and then rolled smoothly over the court. Tezuka groaned inwardly; he had fallen into the trap of one of the Triple Counters.

"40-15!" a second year called.

Tezuka turned to walk back to the baseline, pulling a fresh tennis ball from his pocket. His gaze met with Atobe's for a moment, who was raising an eyebrow at him, and Tezuka hastily averted his eyes. The last thing he needed at the moment was a staring contest with the other boy, which he would inevitably lose.

He reached the line and faced Fuji, with that omnipresent smile plastered on his face. Tezuka bounced the ball once, then twice.

"Ne, Buchou, is something wrong?" he heard Fuji ask without looking up, "Your playing isn't as sharp as usual. Is it your eyesight? Perhaps you need a new prescription."

"I can see perfectly," he answered dryly, now trying his best to send a warning glare Fuji's way.

The tensai only continued grinning, eyes closed in a contented manner. "Ah, I see. Is something else bothering you, then?"

"I can assure you, everything is fine," he replied, catching the ball in his hand as it rose.

Fuji tilted his head to the side. "Perhaps, Buchou, you should follow your own advice more carefully. It's not wise to let your guard down."

Tezuka served the ball, hitting it hard for good measure. In the end, he won 7-5, but it had been by no means easy. When he walked off the court, he was glad to find that Atobe was gone. He ended practice early, because he simply couldn't deal with it. He didn't care if it was blatantly uncharacteristic for him to do such a thing, because, by that point, everyone had already noticed that he wasn't acting like his usual, composed self. Better to make them wonder if he was feverish for making that decision than to let them see him weak for any longer.

It wasn't fair. It simply wasn't fair. Even as he played, stumbling and making mistake after mistake, he was still amazing. He still _looked_ amazing.

His sleek movements, the way his muscles would contract, the sweat that clung to his skin, how his uniform hugged his body in all the right places. The bit of skin that would show when his shirt was accidentally lifted up. Everything about him was tantalizing, and Atobe couldn't stand it anymore. But he wasn't able to move his gaze, either.

Atobe knew that Tezuka wasn't purposely doing this, he knew it was his own fault, and that frustrated him even more. Especially since he was aware Tezuka didn't feel that same attraction towards him.

But still, Tezuka was unknowingly making it nearly impossibly for Atobe to keep himself from storming onto the court, dragging Tezuka off, and groping him right there in the Seigaku locker room. It was hardly proper etiquette, not at all the appropriate time, and it would never be acceptable to do such a thing in _that_ locker room, of all places.

Atobe ran his fingers through his hair, trying his best to look casual. _Two can play at this game, Tezuka_, he thought to himself.

"Come, Kabaji, Ore-sama needs a shower."

"Usu."

_And a cold one, at that._


End file.
